Three Poems
in Mid-Summer
Theoria Roseum Tell me your theory about being born and letting everything go everything you strove for eternity to gather Tell me your theory about being born and getting trapped in an endless garden an endless city an endless maze endless cycle Tell me your theory about being born and forgetting everything, your journey, your history, your psyche, your soul Tell me your theory of being born and losing it all of holding not a scrap in hand of who you are and how it was Tell me your theory about being born and letting everything go to dissolve in the wind, the air to fade in the aftermath of every moment Tell me your theory about being born and staring into the morning the night wondering why the rose took so long to come alive there in the ground, in your hand, on the lips that kiss the song of being born and letting go of being born and leaving it all behind
July Touches August Oppressive light damages the morning of my forgiveness You and me will outlast them, even if our masks fall, even if our names are forgotten We’ve walked those streets so many times I’ve grown tired of reciting all our adventures, our uncountable assignations Another summer is passing by, July has fugued into August, have you noticed the subtle laceration? One of these cicada mornings I will remember the whole story, unembellished and awkward I’ll be staring at the window Dumbly staring into nothing’s shadow and it’ll be there— the faith, the loss, the fading of futile cheers I’ll see I will see it all
Mother tell me the way home so I can be captured in still pictures of silence, dream, forgetting out there where roads open past desire, through lucidity into oblivious ways and days and nights I don’t want a circus, a menagerie or a carnival I don’t want a city of architects or a town of sheriffs I don’t want proud mountains, polite politicians or empty gorgeous ladies Is there a way, a home, there in the hand that waves, in the ocean that pulls away, in the tide where moon severs all chance at ecstasy, at threaded anonymity?

July Touches August is the one that stayed with me. That line about the subtle laceration between the months is just right, the way summer starts pulling away before you notice it's going. The cicada morning image carries real weight. Three quiet and strong pieces.
Really love Theoria Roseum, beautiful, thank you! And resonating thematically for me because I just returned from a Vision Quest and dying and being born…